


green-eyed gundark

by havethecouragetoexist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, characters who are too stupid to share their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havethecouragetoexist/pseuds/havethecouragetoexist
Summary: Leia doesn’t get jealous.Firstly, he’s none of her business. Secondly, he’s absolutely none of her business.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	green-eyed gundark

**Author's Note:**

> no proofreading we die like men.

Leia is not looking.

She is _not_ looking. She is reading the datapad that has been handed to her and ignoring the chatter of the pilots around her in the hangar.

“Watcha looking at, Leia?” Luke follows her gaze, squinting against the blinding sun reflecting off Hoth’s endless ice.

Leia sighs. She puts down the datapad and realises that it wasn’t even turned on.

“Nothing. Just looking through the ship’s logs from the supply run that just came in.”

“Oh, the one that Han led?” He squints even harder, hand coming up to shield his eyes from the light. “Gee, isn’t that him, talking to Shara?” He pauses. “They look awfully friendly.”

Leia wouldn’t know, because she _was not looking_.

“Well, they _are_ friends, Luke.” She tries to keep her voice unconcerned, throws in an edge of sarcasm to keep it believable. She twists to fiddle with a loose thread on her oversized and puffy jacket, and pretends she doesn’t see Luke raise his eyebrows. “Although Lieutenant Bey is a very intelligent woman—Maker only knows why she would be friends with someone like Captain Solo.”

“You could tell her that yourself,” he mutters under his breath, “looks like they’re coming over.”

“What?”

Leia looks up just in time to see Luke’s hand twitch, but not in time to stop him before he’s waving at Han and Shara Bey, ambling over in their direction. She resists the urge to bite her lip at the sight, Han with his swaggering gait and Shara with her pilot’s helmet tucked under her arm. Han laughs at something she says as they walk over, a full-bellied laugh that throws him ever so slightly off-balance and knocks his shoulder into Shara’s. Something itches under Leia’s skin, but she ignores it.

“General!” Shara’s greeting is as jovial as the rest of her, all beaming grin and crinkled eyes.

“Lieutenant. Congratulations on a successful run.” Leia smiles, gracious and warm, just like she learned from Aunt Celly. She turns to Han at a nudge from Luke, “Captain Solo.”

“What, no congratulations for me, Princess?” His face is set in that insufferable look that never fails to make Leia want to scratch it off. “I did _lead_ the run, you know.”

“I assumed that you would congratulate yourself plenty, Captain.” She sniffs. “You’ve never been short on self-confidence.”

“Good for me then, eh? Otherwise how would I ever survive the scraps that I would have to live off from Your Worship?” Han bares his teeth at her in something approximating a smile, shifting his weight casually to one side. Leia carefully ignores the way his blaster belt is slung low over his hips and narrows her eyes.

“Han,” Luke interjects admonishingly, ever loyal.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, kid.” Han huffs, exasperated, and pushes hair out of his face. “She’s nice to you, isn’t she? And to Shara. But for me,” he whistles lowly, “colder than this starsforsaken planet, aren’t you, Your High Iciness?”

“I didn’t know your feelings were so easily hurt, Captain Solo,” Leia snaps back. Irritation is roiling under her ribs and she doesn’t much feel like bringing it under control. “Shall I bring you a gold sticker the next time you manage to change the fuel on the _Falcon_ without killing someone?”

Han says nothing for a while, just purses his lips and glances at Luke as if to say _I told you so_. Shara Bey fidgets with her helmet, clearly uncomfortable, and it irks Leia even more. Curse Han for bringing out her worse side around one of her pilots.

“Alright, Princess. Looks like someone’s in a real mood today.” Han slings an arm casually around Shara’s shoulders, and levels a meaningful look at Leia. “We’ll be in the mess if you need us, and if you decide to grace us with your presence.” He releases Shara to sketch an exaggerated bow, before sauntering off as cockily as when he’d walked over. Shara’s leave, when she takes it after a murmured goodbye, is significantly less rage-inducing.

“You know he’s trying to get under your skin on purpose, right?” Luke’s mouth is set in a line that he must think looks wise and reassuring. It actually just makes Leia want to punch something, but she has at least enough presence of mind to realise that punching a hero of the Rebellion in front of half of said Rebellion’s personnel may not be the best idea.

“I’m going to kill both of you someday,” she hisses under her breath.

\---

“I don’t know what that means.”

Chewie gives her a slight poke in the shoulder and a gentle growl that she can only assume means something along the lines of _Try again_ , and she sighs.

“Cheese? It’s either cheese or hyperdrive.” Her eyelids are heavy, and her hair has been pulling painfully at her scalp for the past two hours. Chewie tilts his head to the side, voice rumbling low in his chest. Before Leia can put in the effort to parse his meaning, the hallway echoes with a monumental clatter and a yell, and any concentration she might have had scatters completely.

“Fuck’s sake, Chewie, you can’t just—Princess.” Han pulls up short in the doorway at the sight of the two seated at the sabacc table. He blinks at her quietly for a moment, and Leia shifts uneasily in her seat.

“Han. We were just finishing up.”

“Finishing up?” He still hasn’t moved an inch from his position in the doorway.

“Our lesson. Chewie’s been teaching me Shyriiwook.”

Chewbacca rumbles an agreement, before grunting a _where the hell have you been?_

“Busy.” Han looks even shiftier now. He holds Leia’s gaze for a moment before blinking away to stare very intently at a stain on the ceiling. A hand comes up to run through his hair, flopping in his face. His jacket shifts with the motion, and it’s only then that Leia notices the faint red marks on his collarbone.

She rushes to his side, all awkwardness forgotten. “What happened to your neck?” The worst case scenarios all flit through her mind in the moments it takes her to realise that if he wasn’t fine, he wouldn't be standing here, cursing in the _Falcon_ ’s corridors.

Han flushes a deep red all the way down to his neck, far enough to blend in with the marks. “Oh—I uh—" His eyes snap back to Leia’s for a split second before darting away again, his gaze skittering around the room.

Chewie throws his head back and laughs. When Leia turns to look in confusion, he winks and gestures in a universally recognisable motion.

“Oh! _Oh_.” It’s Leia’s turn to be embarrassed, her cheeks burning as she stares hard at the floor.

“Chewie! It was _not_ like that. Hey, Leia—” He grabs her by the shoulders, and she looks up instinctively, flinches in surprise. His hands drop immediately, but he doesn’t stop staring at her. “It wasn’t like that.” His gaze is insistent, a touch apologetic, and Leia can’t help but get distracted. She can still feel the phantom warmth of his fingers where they wrapped around her arms, and standing this close to his face she realises that he has a silver scar right at the crest of his cheekbone. The itching behind her ribs is back, a deep discomfort that tickles the back of her throat as she tries not to think about what Han was doing.

“Well,” she tries to make the words cool and collected, “I wasn’t thinking anything, Captain Solo.” She takes a step back and straightens her shirt. “Anyway, it’s none of my business what you do on your own time.”

“I—yeah, of course, Princess.” His tone is wry, resigned. He has a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he probably doesn’t realise but it just brings more attention to the marks sitting at the hollow of his throat. Leia carefully looks away.

They are silent for a moment, Han shuffling his feet and Leia staring blankly over the tip of his left ear. She makes constellations of the cracks in the peeling paint, and tries not to give in to the images threatening at the back of her mind.

“Anyway.”

“Anyway?”

“Yes, anyway—I should be going. I have to prepare for a Command meeting later today.” She clears her throat, turns to flash a quick smile at Chewie. “Thank you for the help, my friend. Same time tomorrow?”

The Wookie nods and greets her goodbye, and Leia turns back to smile again at Han. The corners of her lips feel strained, even to her, but Leia soldiers on.

“Nice running into you, Captain. I’ll see you.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you, Princess.” The intent look is back, something quizzical in his eyes as he bids her goodbye, but Leia just nods and goes.

When she leaves, it isn’t running. She…walks briskly down the _Falcon_ ’s ramp.

\---

“Your Worship.”

“Han!” She looks up, smiles at him. “Talun was just telling me about her childhood summers in Theed. Care to join us?”

“No.” The response is clipped. Leia and Talun are huddled close against Hoth’s biting wind, the full length of their arms pressed together. The contact sends beetles dancing up and down her spine, as does the curve of the mechanic’s lips when she smiles at Leia.

(But it is the muscle twitching in Han’s jaw that gives Leia a little thrill.)

His face is carefully blank when he drops a datapad in Leia’s lap. “Ran into Rieekan earlier. He asked me to give you this.”

“What is it?” She is all business, now, peeling away from Talun with an apologetic pat to her thigh. Leia barely even notices the goodbye that Talun murmurs close to her ear, but Han’s fingers twitch against his hip.

“How should I know?” He rocks back on his heels, arms crossed. “You lot give me orders, I follow.”

Leia spares a moment to throw Han an exasperated look. “I tell you plenty, Captain Solo. As much as you need to know.”

“Well,” his casual tone belies the red creeping up his neck, “didn’t tell me you were so close to Talun Zure, for example.”

“Oh!” Leia ducks her head. She stares intently at the recon report from Rieekan and does her damnedest to hide a smile. “Well, yes. We are.” She smiles her best Luke impression up at him, blinking wide and innocent. “Surely I don’t need to give you a comprehensive list of my friends and companions, do I?”

“Your compan—hmph.” He shifts his weight back and forth between his feet. “Hmph.”

“If that was everything, Captain Solo...?”

“I—yeah.”

She smiles at him again—almost a daily record, she thinks—and stands up, snapping the datapad shut.

“I’ll be on my way then.”

When she walks away, she doesn’t think she’s imagining his gaze blistering between her shoulder blades.

\---

The group bursts into raucous laughter when Leia coughs hard, the glass in her hand tilting dangerously. Someone is patting her slightly too hard on the back and her throat feels like it’s on fire, but her cheeks ache from how much she’s been laughing and she doesn’t quite feel an inclination to stop.

“That’s our General!” someone yells, and a collective whoop goes up through the crowd. Leia grins, flashes them a thumbs up that only causes them to cheer more loudly. The alcohol is buzzing all the way down to the tips of her toes and she closes her eyes to savour the feeling.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar voice cuts through the ruckus and is greeted by drunken yelled greetings. “You gundark-fuckers having a party without me?” The rough cadence sends a jolt through Leia, and she opens her mouth before thinking about it.

“Han! Come join us!”

“Leia?” His voice is suddenly a lot closer than it was two seconds ago, his frame looming over her and blocking out the light from the fuel lamps burning around the circle.

“What are you doing all the way up there?” She’s aware that she’s slurring and tries to get her traitorous tongue under control. She pats the ground next to her. “Sit down, you big bantha. Way too tall for your own good.”

She blinks and his face is right in front of hers. He is squatted in front of her, eyes narrowed as they rove over her face. She stares back defiantly, doing her best to look focused. She had never noticed how long his eyelashes were before.

“How much have you had to drink, Princess?”

“Not enough for you to be asking me that question, that’s for damn sure.” She tries to point accusingly at him but only succeeds in sloshing moonshine all over herself. “Well, kriff.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.” To demonstrate her point, she stands up to cross the circle towards Wedge, who waits next to the vat of dubiously distilled rum. Or at least, she tries to stand, until the room spins around her and she finds herself losing her balance.

“Woah, Leia.” She lets out a small _oof_ as she collides with Han’s chest. His hands reach up to steady her on reflex, his tone immediately more concerned than before. Leia feels herself flush, a reaction that probably has less to do with the alcohol and more to do with the heat of his fingers on her waist seemingly burning through four layers of cold-protective clothing, but Han doesn’t notice. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

He ignores her (less than dignified) squeak of protest when he snatches the glass out of her hand, quickly and carefully ushering her out of the room, hands never letting her go. Leia is barely able to resist, grumbling as she drags her feet and waves to the calls of “Bye, Princess!” that trail in her wake.

In the much colder air of the base’s maze of corridors, the heat from the smuggler’s hold only seems that much more inviting. Doing her best to walk in a straight and mostly sober line, it takes all of Leia’s rapidly scattering willpower not to pull Han in closer.

“You know, there are better ways to get to know people than getting wasted with pilots in the middle of the night. Down that path lies a lot of bad decisions.” When she looks at him, Han’s grin is lopsided, the tilt to his lips taunting.

She tilts her head and arranges her features into as haughty an expression as she can manage. “And you would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve spent enough nights with everyone in that room.” His tone spells _no shit, your Highness_ , and when next Leia speaks she suddenly finds it hard to keep the razor edge out of her voice.

“Of course.” She steps out of his reach. “Han Solo: ace pilot, fantasy material for all who cross his path.”

“Well—that’s not what I meant. I mean, I haven’t actually, you know—”

“Had sex?” Leia’s tone is wry, and bold. The corridor is swaying slightly as it stretches ahead of her and she finds that she can’t really be bothered to give a damn. He’s treated her like glass for long enough.

“Well, yes.” Han huffs a half-disbelieving laugh, looks at her askance. “I mean, not not ever—just not recently.”

He doesn’t say anything else for a while, leaving Leia’s imagination to wander. Just when she starts to get lost in the flickering of the corridor’s lights, his rough voice cuts back into her thoughts.

“I’ve fooled around a bit, but no. I haven’t—been with anyone recently. Not since I started working for you crazy dickheads.” He pauses, and Leia might be drunk and projecting but that might be a look of calculation on his face, and he says, “Not since I met you.”

Her breath catches. He stops walking beside her, and she realises she isn’t prepared to say something, to have to say no, to have to say _yes_ —

“We’re here.”

“Huh?” _Wow, really eloquent, Leia._ She turns to face him fully, and tries not to wobble too much.

“Careful, Princess.” He reaches out a steadying hand, “We’re here. Your quarters.” He says this with an air of finality but his hand stays wrapped around her elbow, coarse and warm. Under influence of the pilots’ moonshine, she would be hard-pressed to lie and say that the weight of Han’s fingers doesn’t feel good. She squints up at him, the puzzle that is Han Solo tickling unsolved in the back of her mind. In the yellow glow of the corridor’s lights on low power settings, the three-day old stubble covering his jaw creates strange shadows on his face.

“That’s interesting.”

“Then you’re drunker than I thought. You’ve been living here for the past three months.” His smirk is bemused, his voice pitched low, and something tugs in Leia’s stomach.

“Tsk, not that.” She waves her hand dismissively, barely misses smacking his face. “I meant the fact that you haven’t had sex with anyone on base.” She pauses to think, chewing on her lip. It’s really quite inconvenient how slowly her brain is moving at the moment. “You—hmph—you could have anyone you wanted, you know?”

“So could you.” The reply is instantaneous, and his eyes widen when he says it. Han’s own words seem to take him aback, his hand tightening on her elbow.

“I could?” She hears her own voice go low and pensive.

It might just be the lights again, but she thinks she sees Han’s eyes darken.

“…yeah, you could.” He opens his mouth to say something else before pausing. In the silence, Han looks up at the ceiling for a long moment, before letting out a loud exhale. When he looks at Leia again, the tilt to his mouth is more wry than teasing. “You really could.” He reaches around her, and opens the door to her quarters.

“I—okay.” Leia isn’t sure what just happened. So when Han nudges her gently into her room, she goes. He hovers on the threshold, leaning against the doorframe, always with that same kriffing terrible posture.

“I’ll check on you in the morning. Pretty sure you’re gonna have one hell of a hangover.”

“Oh—yes. That’s probably good.” She can feel her forehead arranging itself into a frown. Han just lingers in the doorway with that blasted unreadable look. “Good night, Han.”

He smiles. Actually, fully smiles, eyes lit with something other than sarcasm for once, lamplight glinting off the chip in his front tooth.

“Good night, Princess.”


End file.
